


Noticed

by followthefreedomtrail



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Casual Sex, Copious Amounts of Unspoken Feelings, Drinking to Cope, Dumb Decisions, F/M, Lovers to Enemies to One Night Stands, Pining, Sexual Content, not so casual sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:01:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27076156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/followthefreedomtrail/pseuds/followthefreedomtrail
Summary: Poor decisions made while under the influence can be forgiven.But Danse isn’t drunk.
Relationships: Deacon/some rando, Paladin Danse/Female Sole Survivor, Paladin Danse/Nora Adler
Comments: 7
Kudos: 21





	Noticed

**Author's Note:**

> just a heads up that Nora’s been drinking in this and there is consent but if that makes you uncomfortable, you shouldn’t read chapter 2. or maybe any of this idk.
> 
> xoxo

Nights in Diamond City were slow and uneventful the way the world just outside the tall green walls wasn’t. The absence of gunfire almost made Nora uneasy; violence was comfortable, normal. Bullets and fusion cells were commonplace to her, the way lipstick had been to ladies before.

Now, when she wasn’t under attack, she was waiting to be. The quiet could only be so calm without being unnerving, and that was why, when she knew Shaun was safe with Dez and she actually had a moment to stop to catch her breath in the Great Green Jewel, she always gravitated toward the noise that was the Dugout. There was loud music there most nights and if there was going to be a fight, that’s where it would happen.

The sick part of her _wanted_ that—a fight. More often than not, these nights off ended with bloodshed rather than sex and Nora preferred it that way. It probably said something about her, that she’d rather fight than fuck; not that she cared to know what that something was. The less she could get away with thinking about it, the better.

She wasn’t much fun like this and she knew it. Deacon lasted all of two beers with her.

“Hey, I’m gonna—”

Nora rolled her eyes and breathed out into her drink, lips hovering at the edge of it. He’d been eyeing someone all night and by the way he was licking his lips now and adjusting the way he was sitting, she wouldn’t see him again until morning. “Yeah. Thought you might.”

He stood up and squeezed her shoulder, not even bothering to look down at her. “Meet you, uh...”

“Get the hell out of here, Deeks,” she pushed his hand away, shooing him toward the stranger. Nora glanced back and saw tall, dark, and handsome manspreading on the couch near the entrance. Christ, he really had a type. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” she whispered as Deacon drifted off.

“Yeah, yeah.”

Nora sighed and leaned back in her chair, blinking at the empty seat across from her. Some nights, she’d pay good caps to be alone, and there were the other nights. Nights where she was _lonely_ —nights like tonight—where she knew just what she wanted and refused to put a name to it because it was evermore out of her reach and she may as well give that up.

She had tried enough over the years by now to know that _forgetting_ was a lost cause and _if she couldn’t forget_ —well, drinking her weight in liquor was the next best thing, as far as she could tell.

Vadim had pity in his eyes when she slumped against the bar and asked for a glass of something strong and clear. Didn’t chat with her or offer any distractions from old reveries, played to death by now behind her eyelids, like maybe if she _wished_ them hard enough, time would bend and she’d get a second chance to do things right. Do everything better. Make different mistakes, if nothing else.

She wondered if her sister ever got out. Escaped their parents, that crumbling raider compound. Could be dead by now. Could be shooting up, just as bad as the rest of them, but stupidly, Nora wanted to believe she’d left before it had gotten that bad. She’d been smart. It was possible.

Her thoughts turned Rivet City—she’d had friends there, but there was a black hole cut through the center of those memories. Had to be that way, because she always had to dance around that name, those images, or else she might spiral again. Dez had told her in her first few months with the Railroad that _time heals, but not all wounds._ Now, Nora wholeheartedly agreed. Some falls you just don’t survive.

“Jesus,” she mumbled, resting her elbow against the bar top and dropping her forehead into her empty hand.

Fantasies. Fucking— _fairytales_. Everything broken stayed broken. She knew better than to dream up anything else.

“Two whiskeys.”

Oh.

Oh, very fucking funny.

Very _ironic_.

It wasn’t even possible. She’d left that voice behind in the Capital Wasteland. She had to be having auditory hallucinations because it was never supposed to follow her _here_ to the Commonwealth, let alone to this fucking bar, on a night she also happened to be there.

She froze, shoulders and back cramping up like moving meant certain death. Like her survival depended on her stillness, as if stalked by a predator.

As if any of this would ever be intentional. He despised her, was her enemy.

He hadn’t noticed Nora and she decided as the seconds passed that it might well be just one spectacularly fucked up hallucination. She couldn’t say it would surprise her to know her brain could be so masochistic. But she had to be sure, had to know if she had finally lost her whole damn mind, so she slowly turned her head inch by painstaking inch toward the voice and—

_Yes._

He wasn’t looking at her, preoccupied with sliding caps across the bar, but it was definitely _him,_ no doubt in her mind. God, and he looked stunningly similar and yet strikingly different—familiar like she’d last seen him yesterday, instead of ten years ago. He had more wrinkles at the corner of his eyes and a divot between his eyebrows, caved in because he was scowling and even that was so characteristic, she choked.

He must have felt eyes on him because he turned, looking like he might reprimand her until recognition struck him and his jaw fell open slightly, stricken as mute as she was.

Nora looked down at her glass, leaning more of her weight against the bar, not a clue what to do. When he didn’t stop gaping at her, she met his gaze and cleared her throat.

“Uh. Hi.”

Danse nodded. “Nora.”

So far so good. Neither had pulled their weapon. It may be awkward but it wasn’t hostile, and as far as Nora was concerned, that was the best case scenario.

They both stared at each other, unable to think of what to say to ease the tension. There was nothing _to_ say, really. Nothing that could overcome the animosity that had built up in an instant between them back then and that persisted even now.

She wanted to ask why he was there, what he was doing in her territory, wanted to ask him so many things. All of them fought to be voiced but the only thing she said was, “How are you here?”

Danse narrowed his eyes. There was a beat of silent scrutiny and then they both flinched when Vadim slammed two drinks on the bar.

In the dark and smoke of the room, she’d almost swear he looked _nervous_. It took him a while to answer and when he did, it was slow, guarded.

“Elder Maxson has made confronting the Institute a priority.”

That much they had in common. Nora had been fighting that fight much longer than he had and with very little to show for it. Still, she couldn’t help but feel that for once, they were on the same team. She’d thought, when they’d splintered before, that they’d never be amicable again but he didn’t look angry now. Just... curious.

Maybe time had done that.

She flagged down Vadim as he passed and ordered another drink. Any distraction from all the thoughts and feelings that she’d previously banished from her mind that were now bubbling back up into her consciousness was a welcome one, and now she needed that escape more than ever.

“Are you...” He paused, took a breath. “How have you been?”

It almost sounded like he wanted to talk to her. Have a conversation, pretend it wasn’t him who’d stormed out and closed the door on her.

She’d give anything to believe neither of them cared. Nora had told herself she didn’t, she _didn’t_ , hadn’t thought about only him all this time, hadn’t held countless funerals for all they’d sacrificed, anniversaries not had and dreams cut away. She wanted to tell him she’d been fine and he’d been the furthest thing from her mind, even went so far as to open her mouth to say it, but she wound up taking a long sip of vodka and then something between a scoff and a laugh left her mouth. “Fucking peachy, Danse.”

**Author's Note:**

> CW is getting an ending but I just keep writing other bullshit. This is writer purgatory.
> 
> xoxo


End file.
